The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of Dominic Vale's office, casting long golden streaks across polished wood and glass.
Aria stood near the bookshelf, pretending to scan a document she hadn't absorbed a single word of.
She could feel him watching her.
Dominic didn't hide it anymore.
Three days had passed since that night. Three days of tension so thick it felt like oxygen had thinned whenever they were in the same room. They hadn't defined what happened.
They hadn't needed to.
"You're distracted," he said finally, voice low and controlled from behind his desk.
She didn't turn around. "I'm working."
"No," he replied smoothly. "You're thinking."
Her jaw tightened.
He rose from his chair slowly — deliberate. Every movement calculated. The quiet click of his shoes against the marble floor echoed louder than it should have.
Aria's pulse quickened as he stopped behind her.
Close.
Not touching.
Just close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Are you regretting it?" he asked quietly.
Her breath caught. "Why do you keep asking that?"
"Because," he said, leaning slightly closer, "you look like you're trying to convince yourself of something."
She turned then — and nearly collided with him.
Too close.
His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her gaze.
"I'm not regretting anything," she said softly.
His hand came up — not possessive, not improper — just fingers brushing lightly against her wrist. Testing.
"Good," he murmured.
Silence settled between them.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
Charged.
Aria swallowed. "We can't keep pretending this isn't complicated."
His jaw flexed slightly.
"I'm not pretending."
She searched his face. "Then what are we doing, Dominic?"
That did it.
Something shifted in his expression — less guarded, more decisive.
He stepped back, giving her space, but his eyes never left hers.
"We're going to dinner," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"Tomorrow night."
Her heart stumbled. "Dinner… where?"
"In public."
The words hung in the air like a dropped glass.
"In public?" she repeated carefully. "Dominic, that's—"
"Honest," he cut in.
"Reckless."
"Necessary."
Her pulse was racing now. "What if someone sees us?"
He held her gaze without hesitation. "Then they see us."
That wasn't fear in his voice.
It was resolve.
Aria felt something dangerous bloom in her chest — something deeper than desire.
"You don't hide something you're ashamed of," he continued quietly.
The implication made her breath catch.
He wasn't whispering about lust.
He was making a choice.
She searched his face for doubt.
There was none.
Just certainty.
"And if I say no?" she asked softly.
His lips curved faintly. "You won't."
The confidence should have annoyed her.
Instead, it made her stomach flip.
After a long pause, she exhaled slowly.
"Fine."
His expression darkened slightly — satisfied.
"I'll send a car for you," he said.
She raised a brow. "A car?"
"Yes."
"That's excessive."
"It's appropriate."
For a moment, they simply stood there — the weight of what they'd just agreed to settling between them.
This wasn't sneaking around.
This was escalation.
And they both knew it.
As she turned to leave, he spoke again, softer this time.
"Wear something that makes you feel powerful."
She glanced over her shoulder.
"And you?" she asked.
His gaze slowly traced her form before returning to her eyes.
"I already know you will."